


Epulari Autem et Clara

by MiraculousCuddlebug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Cooking, Found Family, Getting Together, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraculousCuddlebug/pseuds/MiraculousCuddlebug
Summary: Much to Jaskier's horror, the Wolves of Kaer Morhen haven't celebrated the holidays in years. He becomes determined to give them the best last-minute celebration he can, filled with mistletoe and home-cooked food.(Rated teen for language, light alcohol use, and slightly ~suggestive~ themes)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 101





	Epulari Autem et Clara

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I am finally back with a mushy holiday fic just in time for the New Year just a few hours before midnight! (Well, where I live at least) 
> 
> I'm very happy to be back and I'm so sorry for being gone for so long! I got sick (not covid) which basically took me out of commission for about a week and a half. I'm all good now though! Please enjoy this super soft and fluffy (slightly angsty but just typical Witcheryness) holiday fic! I hope you all are doing well and I'll be back soon <3
> 
> (Title means Merry and Bright in Latin)

Living in a near-abandoned keep in the mountains didn’t offer much luxury, unsurprisingly. But at certain times of the year, Kaer Morhen’s occupants went out of their way to try and scrounge up whatever comforts they could afford.

The time around the Winter Solstice was when most of the work shifted from maintaining the walls and doing chores to making preparations for the most decadent feast of the year -- for Witchers, that is. Being a group of men who were used to partaking in whatever half-edible food they came across, Witchers weren’t exactly the highest standard for luxuriousness.

Jaskier, on the other hand, grew up swaddled in silk. Years spent travelling between swampy villages and dusty cities had certainly given him perspective as to where he stood, but it hadn’t quite killed off his affinity for bright clothes and soft beds. At first, Geralt’s tales of the rough lifestyle they were accustomed to at Kaer Morhen had worried him a bit, but they hadn’t scared him off, and he was glad for it. Rather than finding himself recoiling at the dust settled in every crack and corner of the place and the chilled wind howling through the gaps, he felt warmed by the well-loved bedrooms and the nights spent together in front of the fire. He found it to be much more of a home than any of the noble manors he had been to.

This, however, was too much.

“What does that mean?! Nobody just  _ doesn’t do _ holidays. Even… I don’t know, war criminals celebrate holidays.” Four pairs of amber eyes just stared at him silently. “Just because you have to rough it sometimes doesn’t mean you have to forgo everything fun.”

“Believe it or not, birdie, four miserable fucks alone on a mountain doesn’t make for the most festive atmosphere,” Lambert drawled. Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him, irritated.

“Well, it’s a good thing you  _ miserable fucks _ aren’t alone anymore then, isn’t it?” Jaskier grinned and gave an exaggerated bow. “Lucky for you, this one bard has the festive presence of a whole crowd!”

Lambert snorted loudly. “Yeah, you talk enough for that many, too.” The bard in question decided to ignore the barb.

“Come on, you grumps, what’s wrong with having a good time?” Jaskier whined.

Eskel piped up this time. “There’s nothing wrong with it, there’s just no point. If it’s just us three getting drunk while Vesemir sleeps upstairs, it’s just the same as any other night.”

“Oh please, it’s not just about getting drunk! I mean, it makes it more fun, but -- the food! The decorations! The singing!”

At the last part, all four Witchers let out a vehement “ _ No.” _

Pouting, the bard let that particular point go. “Alright, you lot don’t have to sing. But can’t you just help me cook a little, make this place a little less…” He glanced around. “Stony?”

Various grumblings came from the men at the request, but after a moment, Vesemir spoke up. “Alright, fine. What would you have us do?”

At the oldest Witcher’s acquiescence, Jaskier grinned triumphantly. “Oh, nothing much. I’ll just need you all to gather some things for me. Maybe help with the cooking if I need it.” He knew he was already pushing it by asking the four men to participate in his festivities, so he wasn’t going to jeopardize it further by making them do all the work.

Jaskier dictated which responsibilities would go to which person, trying his best to gauge which tasks each man would hate the least. Lambert, at least, was pleased to hear that the majority of his work would be bringing in fish from the lake. Jaskier watched his eyes sparkle as he thought about chucking his bombs into the water and raking in his spoils.

Geralt and Eskel were assigned the quest of foraging some plants and ingredients from the forest, which the two were happy enough to take on. The bard decided that Vesemir was the most suited to helping him search the pantries and storerooms for the last of the ingredients for their meal.

Each person set off on their hunts, the atmosphere decidedly lighter than on the type of pursuits they were used to.

\---

Raiding the stores of Kaer Morhen had gone as well as Jaskier had hoped. He and Vesemir were able to recover sacks of grain as well as preserved spices and fruits, exactly what the bard needed to make the meal special. After making a quick stop to gather some milk and eggs, courtesy of Lil’ Bleater and her feathery companions, he deposited his treasures in the huge kitchen. The space wasn’t quite suitable for full use at the moment, but he could make do with the stovetops and oven the Witchers kept in working order.

After a few hours, the other three men wandered back inside with their own prizes, dropping them on the kitchen table like some sort of offering. Jaskier thanked each of them with a smile and a quick hug for Geralt, after which he pretended not to notice the man’s adorable blush at the display of affection.

He prepared as much as he could, gratefully accepting the assistance of the Witchers in the process. They may not have the same appreciation for finery as himself, but their many years of solitary travel rendered them more than capable of handling basic cuisine. They chopped ingredients and stirred mixtures, all under the careful direction of the bard.

When Jaskier had done all he could for the moment and had only to wait until the dishes were done cooking, he ventured outside to gather some of the materials he had in mind to decorate the main hall. He didn’t anticipate needing assistance with collecting any of it, but he still found himself trailed by the three young Wolves, Vesemir having stayed behind to watch over the cooking. All three of the men refused to acknowledge their eagerness to participate in the festivities, but Jaskier picked up on a lightness in their expressions that was usually muted. 

“What exactly are we out here looking for?” grumbled Lambert. Jaskier scoffed.

“You know, I didn’t  _ ask _ you to come help me, so if you’re going to be a wet blanket, feel free to head back inside.” He was answered only with an annoyed glower. 

Softly humming a cheerful tune, the brunet strolled along the paths worn into the forest, followed by three very large puppies. He kept his eyes up, scanning the branches of the trees for his prize. Thankfully, before he had to hear too many complaints and comments from his companions, he spotted the tuft of green he was seeking. Breaking off from the path, he approached the base of the tree whose branches embraced the little puff of vegetation.

A quick appraisal told him that there was no way he would reach the plant from the ground, so he gripped the highest branch he could reach and made to climb the trunk.

Noises of protest quickly rose up from the group behind him and he suddenly found himself pulled off the tree by strong arms looped around his waist. 

“Excuse you! What do you think you’re doing?!” he shrieked, wriggling like a particularly annoyed kitten.

“You can barely be trusted to sit in a chair without falling out of it. I am not letting you climb a tree and then make me look after you when you get injured,” a voice, which he recognized as Geralt’s, said from next to his ear.

As he grumbled and whined, Jaskier was placed gently back on his feet. However, to the bard’s shock, Geralt ducked down lower to wrap his arms around Jaskier’s legs, just above the knees. He quickly found himself lifted once again, this time higher than before. 

Despite his best efforts not to think about the proximity of his Witcher’s face to certain parts of his own body, he still blushed furiously down at Geralt. The aforementioned man avoided eye contact and Jaskier had a suspicion that the red on his cheeks and ears wasn’t just from the chill. 

“Oi, you two can make eyes at each other on your own time! Let’s go before my balls freeze off!”

Jaskier’s face abruptly hardened into a glare which he shot at Lambert in reply. But he did have to admit that the asshole had a point; he was beginning to lose feeling in his toes, despite bundling up heavily against the snow. 

Stretching his arms as high as he could, he was pleased to find that his prize was just within reach. He carefully plucked off a few of the nicest-looking sprigs and tucked them into his pockets. 

Patting Geralt’s shoulder to let him know he was done, he was again deposited safely to the ground. 

He watched Geralt’s expression as he appraised his treasure. “...You know that shit is poisonous, right?”

The poet scoffed offendedly. “Of course! I’m not stupid!” The second statement garnered a raised eyebrow from the larger man, which he ignored. “Haven’t you ever seen people hang mistletoe? It’s a tradition!” 

“The only time I really pay mistletoe any mind is if I’m using it in a poison.”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier grumbled. “Whatever, let's go back before Lambert bites my head off.”

\---

When they returned, Vesemir had thankfully stopped any of the dishes from burning and everything was more or less done cooking. Jaskier, ever the dramatic, shooed everyone out of the kitchen so he could surprise them with the plated food. He also disappeared for a few minutes to hang the mistletoe in definitely-not-at-all strategic spots all over the keep. 

Finally, feeling like he had done much more work than he thought he would when he pitched his idea, the bard stood back and admired the scene the main hall made. 

It was a modest celebration, not anything to rival the lavish balls he had had the privilege of attending in the past. But it was so much more welcoming in its soft, candlelit warmth than any finery would have been. From what he had tasted while cooking, the meal, though simple, was made with care and skill and was just the sort of thing one longed for after braving the sharp cold outside. 

Satisfied with his work, he called out to summon the Witchers from wherever they were working on their latest chore. “Ohhh wolves~,” he sang teasingly. 

Even after spending so much time with them, Jaskier was still caught off guard by how quickly -- and quietly -- they moved. 

The group of men walking into the main hall would have been intimidating if Jaskier didn’t know them so well. He could peel away the stone-faced façades they all wore and was treated to the sight of wonder and delight. As they approached the heavily laden table, four pairs of amber eyes gazed at the spread as though it would disappear if they weren’t careful. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, bard,” complimented Vesemir, the only one recovered enough from his awe. Jaskier grinned back brightly in thanks. 

The other three men -- well, they didn’t look much like fully grown men in that moment. Their faces held a childlike appreciation for the sight of the treats prepared for them. 

Jaskier felt as though somebody had reached inside his chest and clenched their fist around his heart. His eyes watered as he realized the enormity of the situation. The people in front of him, though they were some of the most genuinely good men he had ever had the privilege of knowing, were lost in the face of love. This was likely the first celebration they had had with loved ones in years. They had grown up so fast, spent their long lives fighting to survive, leaving the children buried deep under layers of steel and silver. Jaskier thought then that in that moment, he had managed to coax the children out of hiding, their big, round eyes peering up at him vulnerably. His throat burned, but he swallowed it down, not wanting to worry the others. 

“Well? It’s not just for show, let’s eat,” he said, breaking the heavy atmosphere. The group seated themselves around the table, Jaskier at Geralt’s side out of habit from years spent together. 

Jaskier had to take it upon himself to start dividing up portions of the dishes, the Witchers too timid to touch anything lest it be somehow snatched away from them. He scooped up generous portions of the wild mushroom stew and handed out grilled carp to each person around the table. Each goblet was filled with warm, spiced wine, the inviting scent perfuming the room. 

He could tell they all wanted to just devour the food as fast as they could, which was flattering to his not-quite-professional cooking skills, but he was glad to see them making an effort to pace themselves and savor the atmosphere and the flavor. The bard reined himself in from giving a toast, both because he knew his audience wouldn’t be very receptive and because he was reluctant to break the comfortable quiet they had settled into. The crackling and popping of the fire provided a soothing background for their feast. 

Despite their efforts to pace themselves, the wolves quickly cleaned their plates and sent longing glances at the desserts laid out in the center of the table. 

Taking pity on the poor dears, Jaskier quickly finished off his own plate and stood. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, gentlemen,” he bowed exaggeratedly. He scurried off to the kitchen, wide eyes watching him go, as he retrieved the pot off the stove. He had left it over low heat so the spiced, milky drink would be piping hot when served. When he returned back to his companions, he poured out the drink into each of the tankards, sweet steam rising up from each of the cups. Settling back into his seat, he gestured at the plates of crisp gingerbread and soft, sweet boiled grains speckled with dried fruits. “Help yourselves.”

Adding to the childlike behavior of the hulking men, a flurry of hands reached out for the sweets all at once, weaving over and under each other to grab their prizes. Jaskier had to stifle a giggle at the sight. 

He delighted at the look on his Witcher’s face as he crunched into one of the cookies. He was far too stoic to give much away, but his entire demeanor softened at the spicy sweetness. Jaskier felt as though he was partaking in the sweet treats himself just from watching Geralt. It was a delight to see his usually stern and grumpy friend enjoy himself with such simple pleasures. 

The brunet was so invested in watching the others’ reactions that he barely came back to himself in time to claim a gingerbread or two as his own. He dipped the cookie into his tankard and watched with great amusement as the others pretended not to copy his actions. 

Conversation filtered back in as the food disappeared -- though quietly, in reverence to the pleasant silence that had blanketed the room during their meal. The fire continued to flicker in the background as tongues grew freer with alcohol. Thankfully, they had all decided to forgo their usual habit of getting as drunk as possible and settled for a pleasant haziness. 

The topics of conversation weren’t much different than normal. They still shared the most memorable moments from their months apart and teased each other about stories from the past. Jaskier himself listened with moderate interest, chiming in every now and then with a joke or a question. 

But as the wine softened his bones and the warmth of the room embraced him, he started to slump lower onto the table, his eyelids growing heavy. He was worn out from all the preparations and he was starting to feel it. As he was halfway to being asleep, he distantly felt strong arms gently guide him to lean on the body next to him. The laughter continued and the deep rumble of a voice reverberated through his chest.

The scent of leather and linen was so familiar, the soft-hardness of warm muscle so pleasant, that he tucked his face in closer, his sleepiness numbing any reservations he would have had about embracing the comfort. Under the table, out of sight of the three men opposite them, a hand enclosed his own as fingers gently played with his and stroked the soft skin on the back of his hand. Occasionally, an intake of breath would have pale, clean hair tickling his face. It was easy then for him to allow himself to slip entirely under the blanket of sleep. 

\---

He wasn’t sure how much later it was when he was roused by a grip on his shoulder, hard enough to wake him but far from rough. 

His hearing came back to him slowly, allowing him to sense someone softly calling his name. 

“Jaskier? Are you awake?” The voice was comforting to him, something he had known for years and told him he was safe. Even in his barely-conscious state, he knew the source of it and snuggled closer. 

“Mmmmh… no, love you.”

The pillow under his cheek tensed up slightly and the gentle movements of breathing halted. But Jaskier was too submerged in the haze of slumber to pay it much mind. 

Unfortunately for him, the efforts to wake him didn’t stop. Eventually, he emerged back into the real world and lifted his head.

His whole upper body was molded against Geralt’s. He reluctantly pulled away from the contact, feeling far colder than before. It was easy to adjust his eyes to the low light and he lifted his gaze to meet Geralt’s. 

The man’s hard mask was back up, tucking away any trace of vulnerability deep down inside. Jaskier mourned the departure of the child and became determined to coax him out of hiding again sometime. 

“You should head upstairs, Jaskier. I’m turning in for the night and you’ll hate yourself tomorrow morning if you fall asleep on a hard chair.”

The bard huffed dramatically. “Yeah, alright.” He heaved himself up and headed towards the stairs. Geralt trailed behind him as they sluggishly made their way to their rooms. 

They reached Jaskier’s room first, where he turned and smiled genuinely at Geralt. 

“Good night Geralt. I hope you had fun.” He didn’t get a grin in return, but he wasn’t expecting one. He did get a nod as the man’s features softened, which he knew was an expression of great joy coming from the Witcher. 

The man bid him a quiet good night and disappeared down the hallway. Jaskier entered his room and flopped backwards onto the mattress which was covered from top to bottom in warm blankets and furs. He let himself bask in the festivity of the night, thinking back to how peaceful it was. The food was so filling, the desserts so perfectly sweetened… the spiced wine cast smoke over his memories. He tried to remember after dinner…

Floating off to sleep on the back of their feast… being pulled closer by familiar arms… His eyes snapped open. 

_ “...no, love you.” _

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _

It was supposed to be a companionable, festive evening. Not a night where he confesses his love for his best friend. He felt his stomach flip as he pondered what tomorrow would be like. How could he face Geralt now? Would he ask questions or just --

A knock sounded from the door, making Jaskier jump upright. He stood up and approached the door, taking a deep breath to compose himself. 

Swinging open the door, he was met with the very subject of his thoughts. Amber eyes met baby blue, both filled with nervous uncertainty. A few beats passed where they just stood staring at each other. 

“Uh- did you… need something?” The brunet asked hesitantly. 

The Witcher looked lost for words for a few moments. “Yes. I… forgot to thank you. For tonight. It was… nice.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile a bit at how clearly out of his depth his Witcher was. He knew that despite the simple words, the sentiment was more than genuine. 

“I’m glad,” Jaskier replied softly. Silence reigned once again as neither of them knew what to say next, but were reluctant to end the conversation. 

Geralt’s eyes flicked upward and his brows furrowed slightly. “Is that the mistletoe?”

Jaskier followed his gaze and laughed nervously. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be good luck. I’ve never much bought into that kind of thing, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt hummed. Another pause. On a whim, Jaskier blurted out the next thought that floated into his head. 

“Do you know what else people believe about it?”

The larger man sucked in a breath. “I think I might have heard something about it.”

The bard subtly and cautiously leaned closer to him. Their hands brushed, then gently tangled together. 

“Do you believe in all that?” Their faces were inches apart now, their chests close enough to feel each other’s heat. 

“I’m not sure.” One of Geralt’s warm, rough hands raised to cradle Jaskier’s cheek. “But I think I could partake just this once.”

They shared a breath before longing lips met in a soft kiss years in the making. 

Hesitant at first, it quickly deepened, both of the bard’s hands resting on either side of Geralt’s neck and the Witcher’s own hand still caressing his love’s face. Their bodies pressed as close as possible from head to toe and Jaskier shivered as a thumb stroked his cheekbone. 

When they eventually had to part for air, Geralt shifted over to press kisses to his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose -- anything he could reach. A grin spread across Jaskier’s face at the feeling. 

“You know… there’s one on the headboard, too. Supposed to be good luck in… other endeavors. Shall we take this over there, love?” Jaskier asked teasingly. 

Geralt chuckled lowly next to his ear, pressing a kiss there too and making the man shiver again. 

“Gladly.”

**Author's Note:**

> What did they get up to in Jaskier's bed? Up to you ;)


End file.
